


A Sick Frodo Fic.

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Humor, Rivendell | Imladris, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo eats too many pies and it all gets very messy from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sick Frodo Fic.

**Author's Note:**

> JRR Tolkien is probably rolling in his grave. I don't own the characters or settings. They belong to him and I promise to clean them up before sending them back.
> 
> In the early days of my fanfic writing somebody bet me I couldn't write a vomiting Frodo fic. So I did.

“Frodo! If you eat one more of those berry pies I swear you’ll burst!” laughed Pippin.

“And after all the effort he put into stitching you up when you arrived I think Lord Elrond will be very upset if you do,” Merry added with a wink.

“But they’re so delicious and this is the first time since I arrived that I really feel like eating. I don't know what these berries are but they’re wonderful,” Frodo replied, nonetheless pulling his hand back from the last pie on the platter. His uncle slid it on to Frodo’s plate with a glare at the other two youngsters. 

“Leave the poor lad alone. He’s only showing a decent hobbit appetite at last.”

That was not exactly the comment Frodo wanted. He was getting rather fed up of Bilbo, Sam and Lord Elrond checking up on the quantities of he ate. “It’s alright, Bilbo. They’re right. I confess that I am rather full. I think I’ll go for a walk to help it all go down.” He rose. “Would you excuse me, please?”

Bilbo shot another glare at Merry and Pippin, assuming that they were the cause of Frodo’s sudden departure from the luncheon table. “Yes, of course, Frodo. I’m sure Pippin will be happy to go with you.”

“But I wanted to go . . . Ouch!” Pippin bent to rub his ankle where Merry had kicked it rather firmly. “to go for a walk. How did you know, Frodo?” he added quickly.

Frodo smiled across the table. “It’s alright Pip. I’ll manage on my own. I promise not to burst any time soon.”

Sam made to join him but Frodo waived him down. “And you’ve had quite enough of running around after me, Sam. I am feeling alright and . . . I don’t want to offend anyone but . . . well . . .I’d like to be on my own for a while.”

“Are you sure, my lad?” Bilbo asked, a little concerned. “Lord Elrond didn’t say that you could leave the house yet.”

“I’m quite sure, Bilbo dear. Honestly. I’m feeling better than I have for weeks and I’d like to go for a walk to see Rivendell properly.” He left the table, continuing to talk as he made a swift exit. “And Lord Elrond did not say that I couldn’t leave the house.” He neglected to add that this might have been because Frodo had made a point of not asking the elven healer’s permission in the first place.

Four pairs of concerned eyes watched his departure. 

“Should we follow him, do you think?” whispered Pippin as he reached across the table and rescued the pie from Frodo’s plate, taking a rather large bite and chewing thoughtfully.

“Not this time, cousin,” replied Merry. “I think he really does need to be alone for a while.”

But they all sat in silence for a while, eyes straying to the windows of the large room and the gardens and woods beyond.

0o0

Back in his room Frodo shrugged on his coat. He was feeling rather bloated after that large meal and a good long walk in the fresh air was just what he needed. The autumn sun was shining brightly, drying the mud from the previous day’s rain, and it was perfect weather for walking.

He set off at a brisk pace, humming one of Bilbo’s old walking songs, headed out of the gardens and into the woods behind the Last Homely House. An hour later he was still feeling bloated and also rather warm as he climbed a particularly steep section of the path. 

Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all. Whereas before he had been feeling almost his old self, now his legs were a little wobbly and his stomach was starting to churn. Frodo began to berate himself for eating all those pies. It would seem that, for once, Pip had been correct.

0o0

Pippin sat very still in the window seat of the room he shared with Merry and Sam. He was feeling decidedly unwell and thought that if he moved, even slightly, he may well throw up on the beautifully polished floor. It became clear to him after a little while, however, that even sitting still might not help him avoid loosing his luncheon. He swallowed, trying to force down what he could feel rising.

“Merry,” he called quietly, frightened to draw too deep a breath for fear of the effect on his stomach of such a strong action.

His cousin looked up from his book and, noticing the pale strained features, stood and crossed to the window. “You don’t look very well.”

The confirmation seemed to be all Pippins’ body needed. He turned several shades paler and threw up a hand to cover his mouth, struggling to rise and run from the room. He was too late, however . . . and a large portion of his lunch splattered loudly on the nice clean floor. Merry stepped smartly to one side, narrowly missing having his feet covered and held his cousin as more of the contents of his stomach followed the first course.

When Sam poked his head around the door moments later it did not take him long to assess the situation and he ran off to find Master Elrond.

0o0

Frodo tried to smile brightly at the tall elegant elf that strode by him but it came out as a mild grimace, his facial muscles clenched too tightly against the rising nausea to form a convincing image. He was sitting on a log, trying to wait out the trembling in his legs. His stomach was making loud growling noises and he was drowning in wave upon wave of heat, followed by shivering chills.

Knowing the inevitability of what was about to happen made Frodo feel thoroughly mortified. It would probably serve him right for being so greedy. And now he was going to be so ignominiously ill in this beautiful valley, probably in full view of one of these elegant perfect elves, who never got sick. 

Frodo shook himself out of his self-pity. Perhaps he could make it back to his room before it happened. He levered himself to his feet, taking a couple of hesitant steps. But the sudden upward surge of his body was accompanied by a similar upward surge of his stomach contents and he staggered as fast as he could to a convenient tree to hide his ignominy.

0o0

Gimli, Son of Gloin, strode through the sun-dappled wood. He was not fond of trees, although several of those around him would make excellent charcoal for the smelting of silver. But this valley was based on good solid rock and the elves had allowed its bones to show through. The dwarf tapped a large boulder with his axe. Granite . . . good solid granite. He sauntered on, making his way back to the path and, rounding a particularly ancient oak, collided with something soft moving quite swiftly.

0o0

Frodo hit something with a very solid thunk, right in the centre of his chest. That was the last straw as far as his stomach was concerned and a large amount of half digested food was forced upward at great speed and out the way it had entered . . . all over whatever it was that he had collided with.

Any relief at having actually got rid of some of the problem instantly disappeared when his ears rang with a loud roar and he instinctively ducked back behind the tree. For several moments there was silence and Frodo finally plucked up the courage to look . . . feeling instantly ill once more.

A hefty dwarf stood glowering at him . . . some of the contents of Frodo’s stomach sliding down his luxuriant red beard to land with soft plops on his elegantly tooled boots. If it were possible for the little hobbit to turn any paler than he already was, Frodo would have done so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Think nothing of it,” replied the dwarf, his voice menacingly deep. “I was considering bathing after my practice anyway.”

“Practice?” Frodo echoed, worriedly.

The dwarf hefted a very large axe and Frodo took a step back as Gimli’s eyes took on a slightly wild glint. “I thought I might practice with my battle axe. It pays to keep in practice young sir.”

Frodo took another hesitant step backwards and stumbled over a tree root, landing hard upon his bottom. The sudden movement caused another minor rebellion in his stomach and Gimli saw the pale face attain a faint green tinge.

Frodo had always considered himself a fairly confident hobbit but the past few weeks had been too much. He had been forced from the comfort of his home, thrown into the world of the big people with only his three friends at his side, chased across half of Middle earth by the scariest creatures he had ever known, stabbed, nearly died, nursed back to health by a rather intimidating elf lord, only to now make himself ill again . . . by eating too much, of all things! 

It was all too much and a large tear rolled down Frodo’s face as he frantically swallowed, trying to force the contents of his stomach to remain where they belonged.

Now Gimli considered himself a seasoned and hardened fighter who could deal with anything the world threw at him . . . or in this case . . . .on him. But the sad little bundle, shivering and pale, with a large fat tear rolling down one cheek undid him. Forgetting his own unpleasant state he put down his axe and knelt at Frodo’s side, recognition finally dawning.

“You’re the hobbit, Frodo Baggins. The Ringbearer. They said you’d been ill but I had thought you recovered. You looked well enough at the Council meeting, if a little pale. What were they thinking of; letting you out in this state?”

Frodo took a shuddering breath and wiped his face on his jacket sleeve. “I was much better, until after luncheon. I came out for a walk and then suddenly started to feel ill.” Blue eyes bright with tears gained enough courage to focus on the dwarf’s face at last. “I really am sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“I’ve suffered worse,” the dwarf assured him. “But I’d better get you back to the house. Come along, Master Baggins.” And with that he stood and put a hand under Frodo’s elbow.

Frodo stood very slowly, allowing his stomach contents to move at the same speed as the rest of him, rather than rushing to rise ahead of him. 

Picking up his axe, Gimli drew Frodo’s right arm about his shoulder and laid his own arm about the hobbit’s waist, drawing him to lean against the strong dwarf. Together they set off back down the path to the house, Frodo still wrestling with his lunch.

0o0

Elrond stood at Pippin’s bedside, watching as the youngest hobbit threw up into a basin held for him by Merry while Sam busied himself cleaning the mess on the floor.

The Lord of Imladris waited patiently, small glass of medicine held lightly in his hand, and when Pippin had swilled his mouth he handed it over. Pippin took it and sniffed, somewhat tentatively, at the cloudy contents . . . sighing with relief when he recognised the simple smell of mint.

“Drink it all, please. As quickly as you may,” Elrond instructed, folding his arms and watching Pippin sternly.

The sniffling little hobbit took a large swallow and gasped, eyes going wide as he started to cough. There was very definitely something more than mint in the glass and whatever it was burned all the way down to his stomach, bringing tears to his eyes. To his amazement, however, as soon as it arrived at its destination the roiling in his stomach instantly ceased. He looked from the glass to Elrond and back again and took the rest in one swallow, sighing with relief after a second gasp, and settling back against his pillows.

“Oh, thank you. That feels much better. I don’t know what started it but that has definitely stopped it.” 

Elrond settled on the bed, taking the empty glass and handing it off to Merry.

“Your companions do not appear to be ill. I think, from it’s sudden onset that it must have been something you consumed. Is there anything that you ate that they did not?”

Pippin shook his head. “We all ate breakfast and luncheon together today and I don’t think I ate anything that one or other of my friends didn’t.”

“There was only the berry pie at luncheon” added Merry. “But Frodo ate most of those.” He looked around, realising for the first time that his cousin had not yet returned. Elrond was not slow to notice his scan of the room or to guess the reason for it.

“Where is Frodo? I have not seen him this afternoon.” The elf’s grey eyes grew distant for a moment and a slight frown creased his brow when he focussed on the room again. “He is not within the house or grounds.”

All three hobbits suddenly found something to stare at . . . anything to avoid Elrond’s piercing gaze. Someone of Elrond’s age, however, was not easily fooled and he simply selected the one least likely to dissemble.

“Sam. Your master may be ill if he has eaten the same berry pies. Do you know his whereabouts?”

The suggestion that his master may be alone and ill somewhere was enough for Sam. “He said he was goin’ for a walk in the valley, sir. I don’t know which way he went. He said he wanted to be alone,” he stammered, blushing furiously. “I’d better go look for him. He could be sick and all alone.” He put down his mop and began to run from the room, followed by Merry, but Elrond’s commanding voice stopped them in their tracks.

“You do not know the valley and Master Peregrin should have someone sitting with him.” Merry turned back to the bed but Sam’s face took on a stubborn set. “And, when he is returned, I suspect Frodo will need someone too.” Elrond’s tone brooked no argument and Sam sat down on a chair, resignedly.

With a fluidity of movement that only an elf could achieve, the Lord of Imladris rose, rearranging his heavy brocade robes as he strode from the room. “I shall send out people to search for our Ringbearer.”

0o0

The tinkle of silver bells and the delicate clip of horse’s hooves cantering up the path towards them made Gimli halt. Too miserable to find the energy to ask why they had stopped, Frodo continued to lean heavily upon the dwarf and swallowed hard, trying not to disgrace himself again.

“Ahhhh. I have found you at last,” a familiar light voice called and Frodo looked up to find Glorfindel, astride Ashfaloth. The elf jumped down and stepped lightly towards them, nodding a cursory greeting to Gimli and wrinkling his nose when he saw the state of his clothing and beard.

“Lord Elrond sent me to search for you, Frodo. He thought you may be feeling unwell.” He surveyed Gimli again and the dwarf stared coolly back, never flinching. Before Frodo could form a reply, the dwarf answered.

“As you can see, Lord Elrond was correct. I was bringing him back to the house.”

“Well. I shall relieve you of your charge, Master Dwarf. Then, perhaps you can go and take a bath,” Glorfindel remarked pointedly as he lifted Frodo’s arm from Gimli’s shoulder.

In reply, Gimli only let out a low growl, a glint appearing in his eyes as he saw the elf preparing to lift the Ringbearer. He gave no warning. It would serve the smug elf right. Only vaguely aware of his surroundings, Frodo did not realise what was happening until it was too late.

Slipping a hand behind the little hobbit’s knees and another behind his shoulders, Glorfindel swept him quickly up, cradling him against his chest prior to lifting him onto Ashfaloth. Gimli smirked as he saw Frodo’s face turn a pale shade of green. The Ringbearer tried to push himself away from the beautiful pale green velvet jerkin, but Glorfindel’s arms were too strong.

No. Please, not now, Frodo begged his stomach. But his stomach was not listening and he had time only to whimper before he was violently sick once more; the contents of his stomach arriving not only on his own clothes but all over those of the elegant elf within who’s arms he now lay.

To his credit, Glorfindel did not drop his charge, even when he heard Gimli chuckling. Once he stopped retching, Frodo whimpered once more, turning tearful blue eyes upon his would-be rescuer.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were going to lift me. Oh. Your lovely jerkin. It’s ruined . . . so sorry.” His apologies petred out.

In the way only an elf could, Glorfindel made his face a bland mask. Unfortunately, although this did not make him look disgusted he did not look entirely compassionate either. 

“It is nothing, Frodo. I will take you to Lord Elrond.” He lifted his charge . . . very slowly . . . onto Ashfaloth, pausing only to glare hotly at the still chuckling dwarf before mounting swiftly behind the hobbit. 

Frodo only had time to call, “Thank you,” to Gimli before Glorfindel whispered to Ashfaloth and the horse broke into a swift trot.

Now, elven horses are noted for their smooth gait but hobbits do not ride very well, especially when perched so far above the ground. The slight swaying motion, the world moving past him far too quickly and the vertigo from the height all conspired against Frodo.

“Please, Glorfindel. I need to stop. Now!” Frodo cried. But it was too late. 

By the time they finally arrived at the entrance to the courtyard of the Last Homely House, Ashfaloth was liberally splattered in like manner to his two riders. Being a horse, of course, he was not as well mannered about the affair and was snorting and shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the reek.

Frodo was thoroughly wretched. Oh, why had he eaten so much? Surely there could be nothing left in his stomach to bring up by now? But the loud churning told him otherwise and it was with a feeling of horror and impending doom that he watched the Lady Arwen gliding towards them.

“Oh dear. Poor Frodo,” she crooned, touching his foot; about the only part of him that was still relatively clean. She looked up at Glorfindel. “I will tell my father that you have found him.” She turned to leave and Frodo sighed with relief, just before his stomach began to make its presence felt once more. At least he had not thrown up on Lord Elrond’s beautiful daughter. That would have been too much.

Feeling Frodo shift uncomfortably, Glorfindel looked down in time to see the pale face take on its now familiar green tinge. Immediately, he raised Frodo and tipped him forward so that he would, hopefully, expel his stomach contents on the ground, rather than on the elf and his unfortunate horse. That movement, in itself, was enough to induce the final push of food up into the miserable hobbit’s throat and he retched violently once again.

Whilst her heart had gone out to Frodo and she even felt quite sorry for Glorfindel and Ashfaloth, Arwen was a little relieved that it was not she who had been sent to search for the Ringbearer. As she turned to leave however, Arwen had a sudden thought. Glorfindel would not know where to find her father. She turned to speak and took a step forward. “You will find my father waiting in Frodo’s . . . oh!” Her velvet gown was dark blue, delicately embroidered with snowdrops at hem, neck and sleeve and she looked down in amazement as it suddenly acquired a whole new set of decorative features.

Frodo fairly wailed when he realised what had happened. Not the Lady Arwen! Oh no! “I am so sorry. Forgive me. I couldn’t help it. Please . . . so sorry.” Tears ran hotly down his ashen features and he finally surrendered to them, sobbing piteously. 

With a rueful glance at her dress, Arwen smiled and accepted Frodo from Glorfindel’s embrace, holding him loosely against the sticky gown while the rider dismounted and then handing him back. The Ringbearer was too upset to care about anything, other than that someone was holding him and walking with him into the house and to the comfort of his room. He laid his head upon Glorfindel’s shoulder and closed his eyes, still fighting down the urge to be sick.

Then he was being lowered onto something soft and there were quiet soothing voices around him. Hands began picking at his soiled clothing and others lifted him slowly and gently, so that they could be eased off. Frodo opened his eyes and found himself in the care of his own sweet Sam and . . . Lord Elrond.

He swallowed hard. It was Elrond who held him while Sam undressed his master and Frodo felt a little embarrassed. But there was no sign of disgust in the elven lord’s face only a deep compassion. Frodo relaxed a little as they finished undressing him and brought towels and warm water to clean him up.

0o0

Gimli joined Arwen and Glorfindel at the door to Frodo’s room. All three had changed and bathed hurriedly, then returned to check on the ailing hobbit.

Arwen watched as her father slipped silently about the bed, the only sound in the room the soft murmur of an instruction to Sam or the rustle of his heavy robes. Elrond had been called from another meeting to attend the hobbits so he was at his most formal. Velvet burgundy trousers were tucked into the top of soft suede boots. Over this was a floor length beige silk shirt, high necked, heavily embroidered and drawn in at the waist with a broad burgundy sash. Over all was a voluminous burgundy velvet, floor length robe, lined with deep gold figured silk brocade. He was every inch the Lord of Imladris.

Gimli watched Frodo’s face intently and then eyed Elrond’s robes. The little Ringbearer looked very pale but, as yet, not green. It was Glorfindel, his eyes twinkling, who finally voiced what they were all thinking.

“I wonder what state that outfit would be in if Frodo . . .”

Gimli chuckled and Arwen tried to look shocked, before she too smiled. “Surely he could not be sick again. Could he?”

“He still looks rather pale to me. I bet he could,” Gimli smirked.

Glorfindel looked down at him appraisingly. “He would not dare throw up on Lord Elrond.” He leaned against the doorframe. “What is your wager?”

“Let us first agree the conditions. The wager is not on whether or not he can be sick again but on whether he does so on Lord Elrond’s clothes. Is that correct?”

Glorfindel grinned wickedly. “Agreed. Now what are you willing to wager?”

Gimli cocked his head and met the blond elf’s gaze. “I have a rather fine silver chain in my room. But if you lose, what will be your forfeit?”

The elf thought for a moment. “I have a silver pendant that would look well upon such a chain. If I lose the wager that will be my payment to you.” They both turned to Arwen, who shook her head and stepped back.

“Oh no. You may keep the wager between the two of you. I will see that there is fair play.” She smiled as she looked across at the bed. “But I cannot believe that he could possibly have anything left to bring up, considering how much was all over us. And my father is well used to dealing with these situations.”

0o0

Sam blotted his master’s chest with a soft towel and put aside the basin of warm water. “There now, Mr Frodo. That’ll make you feel a bit better.”

“Thank you, Sam,” whispered Frodo, his eyes still closed. His stomach still felt rebellious but he definitely felt better now that he was lying down. Elrond lifted him slightly so that Sam could remove the towel they had spread on the sheet beneath him and Frodo grimaced against a wave of heat that washed through him. By the time they were tucking blankets around him however, the heat had turned to a shivering chill.

“Ain’t you goin’ to give him some of that medicine you gave Master Pippin?” asked Sam. “What’s wrong with ‘em anyway?”

“I believe the problem was the berries in the pies. It would seem that hobbits cannot tolerate them. I will ensure that they are not served to you again.” Elrond laid a gentle hand on the Ringbearer’s brow. “Frodo’s stomach must be empty now and I do not want to give him anything unless I have to. I believe he is over the worst.”

Talk of being sick was the last thing Frodo wanted to hear, however and he tried desperately to push himself up as he felt his stomach rebelling yet again. Recognising the signals, Elrond helped him and, just as his patient began to retch, slipped a bowl beneath his chin with the speed only an elf could have mustered. 

When the heaving stopped Sam wiped his master’s lips and gave him some water to swill his mouth, then took the basin away while Lord Elrond tucked Frodo into his blankets once more.

0o0

At the door, Glorfindel grinned and Gimli muttered something in dwarven that would have made the toes of both elves curl if they had understood it.

“Lead the way to your quarters, Master Dwarf.” Glorfindel bowed low and waved his arm expansively, toward the hallway behind them, and as Gimli turned in the indicated direction Arwen giggled.

“I told you my father would cope.”

Behind them they heard the sound of a throat clearing and all three turned back to the room to find the Lord of Imladris staring at them pointedly. 

“We came to see how the Ringbearer was fairing. Now that we see he’s in safe hands we’ll leave,” Gimli offered.

Elrond merely raised one finely arched brow and the three turned as one. It was as their backs were thus turned and they had taken a couple of steps down the hall that it happened. They did not see it but they heard it clearly.

Distracted as he was by the happenings at the door, Elrond did not catch the warning signs this time, and Sam did not have elven reflexes.

Frodo could feel his luncheon rising once more and tried to sit up. His arms felt as though they were made of rubber, however and even as he tried to turn away from Elrond his right elbow gave way and he was thrown towards the elegantly dressed elven lord.

Arwen, Glorfindel and Gimli stopped dead in their tracks as they heard the unmistakable sounds of retching followed by a silence and then Frodo’s faint voice.

“I’m sorry. I tried to turn. Please forgive me. Your beautiful robe . . . oh dear.”

Elrond’s voice was calm and unaccusing. “There is nothing to forgive, Little One. It could not be helped. Sam, would you please fetch some fresh bedding and pass me that small bottle of medicine from the table. I think you had better have a dose of this after all, Frodo. It will settle your stomach and then you can sleep.”

Arwen ran back to the doorway and stuck her head in briefly. When she returned to her companions she was smiling and shaking her head in mild disbelief. Elven scout and dwarven warrior eyed her expectantly.

“Master Gimli. I believe Glorfindel’s room and your prize lie in the other direction.”

 

THE END


End file.
